


A Not-So Casual Affair

by staticscreams



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-06-09
Packaged: 2018-04-01 02:49:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4003000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticscreams/pseuds/staticscreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen Rutherford is teaching Art History for the second year at a University. Ailise Trevelyan is in her last year of Art History. Both are very smart, both are very difficult to handle. Both somehow see past their differences and maybe sort of kind of fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains student/teachers relationships, and although they may both be over the age of 18, that does still make some people uncomfortable. So if it does make you uncomfortable, please don't read it.  
> Thank you to my best friend and my beta reader! You both are awesome and have saved me hours upon hours of research.

“You know, Sera,” Ailise said as she picked  up another pair of Sera’s dirty underpants, trying to hold it as far away from her face as possible. “It wouldn’t hurt to _clean_ sometime.” Waiting for Sera’s response, she threw the garment in the laundry basket.

“What?” Sera shouted back after a bit. Ailise groaned at the sound, rolling her eyes. She picked the laundry basket off the floor and made her way towards the kitchen where Sera was eating a bowl of cereal.

“I _said_ ,” Ailise started, setting the basket onto a small table with dishes stacked high on top if it. “Clean the _damn house_.”

“I’m sorry, alright?” Sera said around a mouthful of cereal. Ailise sighed, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ll do the laundry,” Sera offered.

“That’s what I was hoping,” Ailise muttered under her breath, walking back towards her room. She picked her jacket out of the wardrobe, pulling the sleeves over her arms, before grabbing her bag near the bedroom door. It wasn’t as if the flat was _messy,_ it just...wasn’t as clean as Ailise wanted it to be. She had certainly never been picky about cleanliness and organization, but after renting her own flat with Sera, she found herself worrying about a couple of dishes in the sink, a stray sock on the ground, mud tracked in from the front door, etc. She especially fretted when--like _now_ \--the sink was piled high with dirty cups and plates, laundry was strung about, and the floor was a mess.

Perhaps her flat was messier than she originally thought.

“First day, yeah?” Sera called from the kitchen.

Ailise groaned, trying to put her boots on while walking back to the kitchen. “ _Please_ don’t remind me.” She hopped over to the kitchen with one boot on her foot, struggling to put on the second one, almost tripping and falling several times. “Also, rent is due Friday too, and I’m not entirely sure we’ll be able to cover it all. Looks like I’m going to have to start blowing the landlord for rent money again," she said dryly.

Sera made a disgusted face, gasping.

Ailise sighed, “That...that was a _joke_. I’m...not _actually_ doing that, Sera. I’m just going to have to ask my parents for money. _Again_.” But it wasn’t like her parents couldn’t help pay. They had plenty of money, and they would always lend her some when she needed it, and Ailise would pay them back. Eventually. It wasn’t as if she _wanted_ to ask her parents but she needed to make rent. “Anyway, are you working tonight?”

“Yeah,” Sera said, chewing noisily with each bite. “Aren’t you supposed to be working this morning?”

“No,” Ailise replied absently. “Dorian is giving me the day off so I can get situated with new classes.”

“He’s real nice, yeah? Like, he _seems_ like a proper prick sometimes, but then when you meet him he’s...nice. Do you think he’d hire me?” Sera pondered, staring at her reflection in the spoon, milk dripping down it.

Ailise laughed, deciding not to respond to her question. The answer was going to be a _no._ She had been working for Dorian at his little coffee shop ever since she had started Uni, and he trusted and respected her completely. But just because he trusted and respected _her_ didn’t mean that he had to trust and respect her ex-girlfriend.

And he didn’t. They had only met a handful of times, but she could've sworn she'd seen Dorian’s eye twitch at each one. Sera would just have to stick to bagging groceries at the supermarket. Which _reminded_ her--

“Are _you_ working tonight?” she asked. Sera nodded, shoving another spoonful of cereal into her mouth. “Late?” Sera nodded again. “I’m probably going to be doing the laundry tonight, aren’t I?”

Sera gave Ailise an apologetic smile. _Of course_ , she thought. She would be the only one doing housework _again_ , the only one paying for food _again_. At least Sera pitched in for rent seeing as it was the least she could do; God knew Ailise wouldn't be able to make it in this apartment by herself with what she was paid.

The student dormitories weren’t an option. She had tried that in the beginning, but she hadn’t gotten along well with her residential advisers, so they decided it was just best to rent their own place.

At half an hour to nine, she left, not wanting to be late her her classes. Sera started her Chemistry courses a half an hour later. How someone like Sera could be getting a degree in Chemistry baffled her. It wasn't that she didn’t think Sera was smart enough, because she _was,_ it was just that she had a short attention span and got bored easily, and with a subject such as Chemistry, it was a wonder how she could stand it. Sera’s answer: “I like making things _explode_!”

Ailise waved goodbye to Sera, walked down the stairs in the hall and stepped out the side door. A thick fog had rolled in earlier that morning, chilling her to the bone and had her thankful she had brought a jacket. She shoved her hands in the pockets, shivering slightly. Their flat wasn’t too far away from their Uni, but the cold weather made the trek feel so much longer.

Their building was a rundown split apartment,  her and Sera on the top floor with their landlord living in the flat below. The neighborhood wasn't the greatest; the roads were torn up, people sold drugs out of a house down the street, and the police usually had to come settle domestic disputes a few times a week. Despite all of that though, it could have been worse. The alleyway that she would take to get to her University was overgrown, grass and weeds growing out of the cracks in the pavement. Although it wasn’t the most scenic route, cutting in between houses was definitely the quickest. Plus, the closer that she got to her University, the nicer the neighborhood was. It was quite the lovely place--the siding on the houses wasn’t falling off, windows weren’t broken in, and the smell of pot didn’t permeate throughout the entire street. There was even a park.

The school itself housed several buildings--including the arts building, where the bulk of Ailise’s courses were.. There were also a few science and mathematics buildings, a language arts and literature building, and a smaller building that housed the reception offices and a cafeteria. The courtyard was large and sparse and nice enough, though it was marred by the unfinished on one of the buildings. The fine arts teacher, Vivienne, had been talking to the Dean of Students since the year before about completing it.

She crossed the courtyard to the small art building. There were perhaps a little over three hundred students enrolled in the program with her, a small number, but she preferred it that way. It made traffic travelling around the art building minimal and allowed her to get to know her lecturers and classmates better.

Ailise yanked open the large door, fighting the heavy wind that tried to pull it away from her. Once she was inside, the door took a moment to close, the warm air beating out the cool September weather. Other students were walking in, on their way to and from class. She slipped into the small crowd, following them towards the lecture hall.

She made a sharp turn down the hall, towards her Art History course. Trying not to bump into anyone, she snaked in between students that were finding their way around the building. She turned towards the right, into a hall that had a low ceiling. It was still higher above her head, but she felt the need to duck whenever she down that hallway. The Art History lecture was at the end of the hall, across from a large window that overlooked the courtyard.

A male instructor greeted the students as they walked into the room. “Welcome to Art History!” he said as the students filed in.

Ailise’s brows knitted in confusion--it had always been Wynne who had taught Art History. Once the class was full, the instructor closed the door then walked back to the front of the room.

“What happened to Wynne?” one student asked, setting her bags in the front of the room on one of the tables. Ailise recognized her--they had practically the same schedule their entire first year of Uni. _What was her name again? Claire? Carol?_

“Unfortunately, she retired,” the man said, slowly pacing the front of the room. "And I am your new Art History professor. You may call me Mister Rutherford.”

Another student in the front raised his hand. “What about a first name? We usually call Uni teachers by their first names.”

The instructor smirked, “I’m aware.” He thought for a moment, tapping his chin with one finger, “Let’s play a game. If you can figure out my first name, then you can call me by it. Until then, I’m Mister Rutherford.”

Mr. Rutherford walked towards his desk, typing something into his computer. A few students in the front were talking quietly amongst themselves. When Mr. Rutherford turned his attention back to the class, they silenced immediately.

“Ailise!” she heard someone whisper from a row behind her. Ailise turned and saw a young woman with a thin frame and black hair. _Merrill._ She waved, and Ailise motioned for her to come down and join her. She nodded, quickly picking up her things and moving to sit next to Ailise.

Merrill was sweet--she always listened and had something positive to say, even when life was clearly in the shitter. They had met through Isabela, whom she had met through Sera. She had also met Rowan Hawke from Sera as well, whom Isabela and Merrill were quite close with.

“How was your summer?” Merrill asked quietly. “Mine was quite wonderful. I spent a lot of it in Cornwall, have you ever been there? It’s quite lovely.” She definitely looked as if she had gotten tanner from walking across the beaches all summer.

“I haven’t, no,” Ailise said. “I’ve mostly stayed in my flat, worked, and drank. Boring, I know.”

It was clear Merrill wanted to keep talking but the professor seemed to trying to get the class’ attention.

“Shall we call attendance?” he asked rather loudly, shushing every stray voice in the room. The class looked around in confusion-- _attendance?_ There hadn’t been a class Ailise had taken before that had attendance, much less a last-name basis with the instructor. Apprehension and resentment bubbled up immediately, warm under her skin. _He probably has something to prove_.

“I promise to only do this once. I just...want to see who’s in my class. Besides, this is group is quite small,” he said before picking up a clipboard from his desk and examining it. Furrowing his brow in concentration, he looked back up at the students, _counting_ of all things. Once he was done, he looked back down at his clipboard and began calling off names. Once he was three names from done, he paused. “I’m...not sure how to pronounce this name. Last name is Trevelyan.”

Ailise sighed. _Of course_ , she thought, because it seemed no one ever knew how to pronounce her name. “It’s like...Élise. It’s a French-sounding name.”

“Ah,” Mr. Rutherford said, nodding. “That makes sense. Thank you.”  He called the last few names before setting his clipboard back down onto his desk. He picked up a tall stack of papers, and began handing them out to students in the front to pass them back. “This is a syllabus,” Mr. Rutherford said. “This also has all of my contact information on it, so if you ever need to email me or call me at my desk, please feel free. This will all be online as well in case any of you loose this sheet, which some, if not most of you, undoubtedly will.”

“This says C. Rutherford on the contact information!” one of the students from the back bellowed.“It _also_ says C. Rutherford on the information sheet for this class!”

“Yes, but there are thousands of C names out there. Good luck guessing mine,” he chuckled.

“There’s also paperwork in the main reception!” another student said. “What if we see your name on it?”

Mr. Rutherford laughed, leaning against his desk and crossing his arms. “Are you really going to risk getting caught looking through the University’s files _just_ to find out my first name?” He shook his head, grinning. “Good luck with that.” His tone dropped the conversation. The class started after that, a presentation on what was expected from them for the semester sliding slowly across the projector.

It hadn’t gone on too long--an hour at most. Her Fine Arts courses were three hours long, this was going to be an easy hour. She packed her bag and walked off, giving a quick wave to the cute lecturer. _Who is he?_ she wondered. _I know him, but from_ where?

After spending an hour in his class, she had decided that she didn’t completely hate him. _Yet._ One thing that her friends never failed to point was her quickness to resent, _especially_ University instructors. He was funny, if not a little drier than most and it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes, but that could only last so long. That easy resentment she was so good at would rear up eventually and then she’d be rolling her eyes and whispering jokes to Merrill in class.  

“You don’t hate him _yet_ ,” Sera said later that night, as she was brushing her teeth before bed. Ailise sat in the bath, fully clothed in her pyjamas, propping her feet onto the edge of the tub. “But you _will_. I know you.” Sera looked at her suddenly. “You know, I... _know_ know you. You _know_ what I mean.” Sera winked and grinned, her cheekiness earning her a playful kick from her roommate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She knew she recognized him from somewhere, but where? (I'm a little bit trash and love coffee shop AUs, sorry)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to my beta reader, who literally kicked my writing in the ass. Bless her.

Ailise blinked, finally waking up, the sound of her alarm clock almost deafening in the quietness of her room. Peering at the bright alarm, she could see that it was three. _Time to get up_. Yawning, she rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and sat up, feeling her entire body ache, bones and muscles groaning with her. Slowly, slowly, her bare feet touched the soft carpet on the floor and she stood up.

Sera wasn’t awake yet. She never was at this time, and if she _was_ , it was because she was staying up late. Not even just studying, sometimes just smoking (even though Ailise had banned smoking in the house six months ago) and watching television. Often, Sera would go days without sleeping and Ailise wondered how she did it.

She tip-toed her way to the bathroom, grabbing a towel from the linen closet on her way. She closed the door behind her, then turned on the light, shielding her eyes for a moment. When she turned to look in the mirror, she wasn’t surprised by how ghostly and tired she looked, with dark circles underneath her blue-grey eyes. Perhaps in an hour or two, she would look like an actual human being.

Ailise started the shower, slinging the towel over the shower rod. Once the water was warm enough, she undressed and hopped in. Already, she could feel herself waking up, her mind clearing and the knots in her muscles loosening. When she was done, she got dressed and pulled her dirty blonde hair into a messy bun, not even bothering to brush it as it would get ridiculously frizzy. She put on her boots, grabbed her jacket, and then was out the door.

The sky was clear, still dark but cloudless. The birds weren’t out and singing yet, the night quiet. The only sound she could hear besides the occasional ruffling of the leaves were her footsteps on the sidewalk. It was nice. Leaving her house in such a terrible neighborhood at three in the morning often freaked her out, but she needed to make money, and that was the best time for her to work. So she sucked it up.

Dorian’s café wasn’t too far from her University--just a little ways down the street, closer to her flat than the campus. She cut through the alleyway, the sound of her footsteps echoing off the brick buildings around her. It was much busier and brighter on the other side of the alleyway, with lit streetlamps and a few cars on the road. This street had a row of storefronts with flats up on top; one of them was Dorian’s.

She stopped in front of his shop, pulling out her key and unlocking the front door. Usually by this time, Dorian was still asleep. Ailise decided to set up for the day, cleaning things up from the night before and grabbing things from the back to put on display. When she first started working at Dorian’s shop, she would have to knock on the front door every morning, waiting for Dorian to finally come down the stairs into the café and open the door for her. Six months later, when she got her first raise, Dorian gave her a key. He trusted her, he said, and he knew she would be responsible. And she _was_ responsible. Dorian began trusting her not only as his employee, but also as his friend.

Less than an hour later, all of the lights were on and Ailise was fully functioning. Dorian came down the stairs to help her set up for the day once the sun had started peeking out. Thankfully she wasn’t tired at all anymore It was a relief, but she knew that in a few hours she would be sitting, eating her lunch, and she would feel that first burst of exhaustion. It was a comfort that it would happen later, though.“So,” Dorian said, his voice echoing off the walls of the empty café as he began organizing tea on the shelves. “How was your first day of University?”

Ailise thought for a moment as she wiped down the front counter. “It was...relatively the same as last year. Sort of boring.” She shrugged, beginning to wipe down the glass case in the front. She wondered why the night crew didn’t do the cleaning.

“Nothing’s changed?” Dorian asked.

Ailise looked up at him. “I mean...I have a new Art History professor. But that’s sort of it.” She shrugged again, going to toss the dirty rag in the basket in the back. When she returned, she began taking the chairs off the top of the tables and pushing them in.

“What’s their name?” Dorian asked. This early in the morning, Ailise was bad at conversation. She just wasn’t great at it in general, but in a few hours she wouldn’t be as embarrassing.

“His name is Mr. Rutherford. He hasn’t told us his first name,” she said, wiping down one of the circular tables.

“Ooh, mysterious,” Dorian said.

Ailise chuckled, at him, rolling her eyes. “He’s alright, I suppose. I don’t really know him too well.”

“Well, you have an entire year to get to know him,” Dorian said, before the baker in the back called for him. “Hold that thought, I’ll be right back.”

A few hours later, the café was full-students and teachers sitting down, reading books, grading papers, studying, etc. There were a few regulars that Ailise recognized--like Professor Varric Tethras. He taught English, and in his spare time he wrote books. Often times he would call Ailise “Artsy” whenever he would greet her. At first, she thought it was annoying, but eventually, she liked her nickname. Sometimes, on her breaks, she would sit and listen to him tell her stories. He was particularly good at that.

However, most of the time, Dorian found him a little irritating. Varric referred to him as “Sparkler”.

Suddenly, the door opened, the small bell at the top of the door rang, and Ailise looked up, her eyes widening. _I knew I recognized him from somewhere,_ she thought, as Mr. Rutherford made his way into the café.

“Dorian!” Ailise whispered, tapping her manager on the back. He looked up, raising a dark eyebrow at her. “There he is.”

Dorian’s brows furrowed. “There _who_ is?”

She sighed at him. “My Art History lecturer.”

A look of realization crossed Dorian’s face as he looked at the man. “Oh! Him, I remember him!” He had been a regular at the café, ordering same black coffee every morning. Usually, once he received his order, he would leave five pounds in the tip jar, then he would leave, giving a small wave for a goodbye. His tips were what was helping her pay rent.

“Good morning, Mr. Rutherford,” Ailise greeted him as he approached the counter.

His brow furrowed in confusion. _He doesn’t recognize me_ , she thought. She’d expected him to, but she supposed she wasn’t very surprised--he no doubt taught a lot of people in a day, remembering faces would be quite hard, especially in the beginning.

“Oh,” she said. “I’m in your Art History course. I’m Ailise Trevelyan, the one with the first name that is impossible to pronounce.”

His eyes widened. “Oh! I apologize, Miss Trevelyan. I remember you, yes. I had you first thing in the morning yesterday, didn’t I?”

She nodded. “Yeah. I knew I recognized you from somewhere.”

He chuckled. “Well, now you know.”

His order was the same as the last probably hundred times that he showed up--black coffee. He wouldn’t even fix it with cream or sugar, just black coffee. Personally, Ailise couldn’t stand the taste, and wondered how he could. Not to mention the fact that Dorian’s coffee wasn’t that great anyway. Once Mr. Rutherford received his cup, he dug into his back pocket and slipped a five pound note into the tip jar. He gave a small wave, and then he left.

After the door had closed behind him, one of Ailise’s coworkers made a low whistle, nudging her. Ailise rolled her eyes, getting back to work.


End file.
